


Forgive My Thoughts, Now

by Thunderrrstruck



Category: Psych (TV 2006)
Genre: Cadence Spencer, Character Death, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Gen, Post-Canon, Regret, Wakes & Funerals, dealing with death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:47:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27021487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderrrstruck/pseuds/Thunderrrstruck
Summary: How does one know if they made the right choice or not? Shawn struggles in the wake of his father’s funeral.
Relationships: Henry Spencer & Shawn Spencer, Juliet O'Hara/Shawn Spencer (Mentioned), Shawn Spencer & Original Child Character(s)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9
Collections: Whumptober





	Forgive My Thoughts, Now

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place post all canon material and is based on a small spoiler from "Lassie Come Home" that turned into a whole discussion on the psych discord. I suggest watching that movie before reading this. (My friend has great insight on character relationships, and countless kickass fics for the Psych fandom. You can find her on here at "Robinsonswerehere"!)
> 
> Written for day 11 of Whumptober2020. Prompt: Struggling. Title taken from the lyrics of "State Lines" by Novo Amor.
> 
> tw: major themes of death, guilt, regret

His fingers drag across the picture frame. Within the wooden borders resides a smiling, bald man holding a fishing rod in one hand and a dead trout in the other. Trout, bass, shrimp, whatever kind the fish was. Shawn never bothered to learn the distinctions of the ocean. He was always too angry or too annoyed, and on rare occasions too busy, to partake in father-son bonding activities like fishing. _Why_ , he’d ask himself, _am I sitting in a boat at four in the morning with a grumpy rage-a-holic when I could be sleeping?_ No patience, he had, and look where it got him:

No pictures of just he and his father to decorate the table. Nothing recent, at least. He spied one in which he must have been eight or nine. He was wearing his father's police hat, and behind him stood a guy with hair and a wide array of teeth, the two of them captured mid-laugh. _Must've been taken by mom_.

“I feel like I screwed up somewhere,” he told the air, but he wasn’t psychic, and there wasn’t a spirit realm to lean on for this. This moment was just him speaking from the heart a couple weeks too late.

In between the picture frames, encased in a plain urn, stood his father’s ashes. _Who knew a steak a day would be fatal_ , he thought dryly. Was it fair to joke at such an hour? _No_ , his gut told him, and yet he had to stay afloat somehow. Adrift in the waves of guilt, arms weakening with every stroke, legs kicking the second-guesses away.

“I kinda, I don’t know... I needed some space,” he explained to the picture frames. Would it have been that big of an issue to take _one_ picture with him? _Hey, dad, let’s take a selfie!_ he could have said last Christmas. The words wouldn't have come so easily then, he knew as much, but the easy things held no significance in the years to come. “I thought we had more time, to fix things. I thought... I thought a lot of things.”

_If I'd just had a few degrees more of courage..._

His thumb slid over the top of the fishing picture. Just that once, Henry's face wasn’t contorted by a scowl and his face wasn’t a shade of red. It looked as if he were some harmless grandpa. Fisherman Spencer struck Shawn as a spirited man, a sharp contrast to Detective Spencer, a bitter soul clawing for viability.

Shawn lifted his eyes from the frame. Was the water in his eyes from sadness or envy? (He'd have liked the jolly Fisherman Dad.) Shawn blinked profusely until the moisture settled back in his tear ducts. Maybe another day, he’ll really address it, but for now, he’d place all his mental focus on the five-year-old tugging at his jeans.

“Can we go home now, Daddy?” Cadence squeaked. Just old enough, she was, to understand that sometimes people don’t return, but just young enough, she was, to miss the emotional weight of it. She hadn't known Grandpa Spencer very well, either. A handful of visits would be all she'd remember going forward, and that was Shawn’s fault. Limited contact with Henry was all Shawn could stomach. At the time, it felt right. It felt like healing. In retrospect, it was the molten lead encasing his heart.

Stooping down, Shawn wrapped his arms around Cade’s middle and raised her to his chest. With a hand of support beneath her, Shawn watched as she cast her brown eyes upon the room. Her gaze rang with wilderness despite knowing the layout of the room already. A different viewpoint could make a familiar sight foreign again.

“Not yet, okay, Cade?” he said.

“Everyone’s sad,” she provided. Indeed, they were. Perhaps it was an obvious observation, but the corner of Shawn’s lips twitched upwards. In reassurance or agreement, or both, he didn’t know, nor did he think to pursue an answer. By the warmth he felt beholding his daughter, the hole in his heart temporarily filled. “Should I be, too?” she asked in an even tinier voice.

“Only if you want to.” He wouldn’t force her to feel anything. It was his fault she was even asking.

“Are _you_?”

For a girl who’s voice sounded as sweet as an angel’s, it drew upon a part of him which he hid from display. Sometimes, he stashed this part so deep, he forgot it was there. (Around Jules, it never seemed too deeply stashed or daunting. She had a way of making even Everest seem doable.)

He fell silent as he asked himself: Am _I sad?_

Even posing that question to himself worsened his shame, and then the shame triggered the anger. Anger burst in resolve, and he channeled all his will into keeping himself locked in solidarity, but doubt always had a way of corroding his innards. The corners of his eyes burned with tears unshed. He saved them for another time, hopefully one with less of a population. Perhaps by that time, he’d have learned to forgive himself for his choices. For the push back, for the lack of calls. For cutting ties so abruptly, without much of an explanation. (He was planning on an explanation, he was building it up in his head. He just never felt like the current moment was the _right_ moment to say something.) Perhaps he’d even understand how it wasn’t his blame to shoulder. Some things just are. Some things are on you, while some things are on others.

Shawn bounced Cade in his arms. “I am,” he replied, and it was the only statement he’d said today with not one complication. It was the truth, at the end of it all: he was sad.

**Author's Note:**

> I may not like Henry, but I can recognise the fact that despite how he treated Shawn, there was still a bond of love that would make his passing bitter for our favourite pseudo-psychic. Hope you enjoyed! Leave a review?


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